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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402332">another soldier says he's not afraid to die</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExultedShores/pseuds/ExultedShores'>ExultedShores</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hades (Video Game 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Courtship, Flirting, M/M, Pining, Sisyphus isn't there but he's mentioned plenty, War and Death are peak romance, Worship, Zagreus is a good bean, and of course he's the source of all trouble</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:21:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExultedShores/pseuds/ExultedShores</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Death is angry.</p><p>Ares can sense it even from across the battlefield, the red, boiling fury he knows better than any other. It is the desire for violence, the drive to fight, the will to harm. A selfish anger. An anger he is so very familiar with, for it is the anger that coaxes kings into conflict, compels soldiers into battle, feeds strife until it is ripe for picking. It is the anger that fuels wars.</p><p>But he has never, in all his existence, felt that anger radiating from Death Incarnate.</p><p>Ares revels in this anger, in what it represents. But it ill suits Thanatos, he who grants peace to those felled by that very anger, and such as it is the first time Ares has felt this anger radiating from the God of Death, so is it the first time the God of War takes no pleasure from the sensation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ares/Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Thanatos &amp; Zagreus (Hades Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>278</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>another soldier says he's not afraid to die</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have fallen headfirst into Hades and Ares/Thanatos owns my whole entire soul now.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Death is angry.</p><p>Ares can sense it even from across the battlefield, the red, boiling fury he knows better than any other. It is the desire for violence, the drive to fight, the will to harm. A selfish anger. An anger he is so very familiar with, for it is the anger that coaxes kings into conflict, compels soldiers into battle, feeds strife until it is ripe for picking. It is the anger that fuels wars.</p><p>But he has never, in all his existence, felt that anger radiating from Death Incarnate.</p><p>The war has yet to decide on its victor, but the skirmish has subsided, and it is easy enough to locate Thanatos amidst the fallen, scythe a blur as he cuts through the tethers that keep the mortal souls attached to the surface world. Even the swings of his weapon are wrought with anger, the motions swift and clipped and nothing at all like the usual graceful sweeps with which he reaps his harvest.</p><p>Ares revels in this anger, in what it represents. But it ill suits Thanatos, he who grants peace to those felled by that very anger, and such as it is the first time Ares has felt this anger radiating from the God of Death, so is it the first time the God of War takes no pleasure from the sensation.</p><p>He knows better than to interrupt Thanatos while he works, while there are still souls crying out for release. But as soon as the last thread is cut, Ares makes his presence known.</p><p>“You carry more ire than the General who lost this bout,” he remarks, as though it is a mere idle observation. “What troubles you?”</p><p>Thanatos does not so much as deign him the honour of his gaze. “My ire,” he says, voice sharp as the scythe he releases from his grasp, “is none of your concern.”</p><p>“On the contrary,” Ares denies. “Your wellbeing is the first and foremost of my concerns. I am nothing without you, after all.”</p><p>War is nothing without Death. And Ares is nothing without Thanatos. Two related truths, to be certain, and yet two conclusions Ares reached separately, one much more recently than the other.</p><p>Thanatos turns to face him only then, his expression flickering from apathy to hesitation to resignation, and he sighs. “You aren’t likely to let this lie, are you?”</p><p>Ares’ answering smile is all teeth. “Come now, I believe we both know the answer to that.”</p><p>The anger radiating from Death subsides, if slightly. “You have always been more perceptive than they give you credit for, Lord Ares.”</p><p>There is more to War than mindless brawls, after all. “And you are avoiding the subject, my dear Death.”</p><p>Thanatos huffs something that can be described as laughter, coming from him. “My ire, as you name it, would be directed towards your cousin.”</p><p>It is not a challenge to discern which cousin he means. “What has my kin done to offend?”</p><p>He cannot help the way his voice lowers as he inquires, an anger of his own simmering softly just underneath his skin. From what he has gleamed through his limited view into the Underworld, his Lord Uncle Hades’ son is much more agreeable than Ares’ own brothers – but then he has, indeed, only glimpsed. Thanatos knows Zagreus better than Ares could ever hope to, and kin or no, Ares will not stand for any mistreatment of Death.</p><p>Thanatos tsks, the way he does. “There was no ill intent,” he admits, though it does naught to diminish the red still emanating from him. “Zagreus… has a tendency to do what he believes is right, without sparing thought for how it may affect others.”</p><p>He is still not addressing the root of the issue. “It appears to have affected you quite a bit,” Ares pushes.</p><p>Thanatos sets his jaw, averts his gaze – but he speaks plainly. “He revoked the sentencing of King Sisyphus.”</p><p>And blood <em>roars</em> in Ares’ ears.</p><p>But – only for a moment. His rage morphs from familiar hot to crystalline cold with a swiftness even Hermes would envy, and Ares feels eerily calm in his acrimony. He has only experienced anger like this once before, in all his long existence, and that, too, was directed at Sisyphus. That, too, was born out of a fierce desire to protect Thanatos, to shield him, to be the soldier waging war for his Emperor. And it is, he finds, an anger much more terrifying than his customary hot fury.</p><p>If this is how Lady Demeter wallows in her grief, Ares understands why the mortals fear her ire so.</p><p>“The Deceiver King ought to count himself fortunate I am not allowed within the reaches of your realm,” he says, the lightness of his tone a stark contrast to the thoughts of violence swimming before his mind’s eye. “And my kin has not yet realised that his actions may have unpleasant consequences, it seems.”</p><p>“War himself storming Tartarus to defend my honour,” Thanatos drawls, sounding quite unimpressed – but his angry red aura is fading even now. “That would be a sight.”</p><p>Were he not restricted by the laws of the Underworld, he would already have been well on his way. “Ballads would be sung of it for eons to come.”</p><p>Thanatos rolls his eyes, but he loses the fight with his smile. “Ballads of how Lord Hades locked <em>you</em> away in the deepest pits of Tartarus, I’m assuming.”</p><p>“You wound me, my dear Death.”</p><p>“You will recover, I’m sure,” Thanatos says, cutting words undermined by fondness crinkling the corners of his eyes. The red has all but vanished from his form, now. “But – ah, I must attend to my duties. Farewell, Lord Ares.”</p><p>He has already summoned his scythe back to his hand when he pauses, debating. “And… you have my thanks.”</p><p>Thanatos is gone before Ares can respond, but the sentiment lingers. As does, to Ares’ mild surprise, his own uncharacteristically cold anger.</p><p>That, he will keep, and hone into a fine weapon. If his kin has not yet learned that his actions may have unpleasant consequences, perhaps it’s time someone teaches him that lesson.</p><p>The hard way.</p><hr/><p>The House of Hades is quiet without Zagreus.</p><p>Were he not cross with the Lord’s son, Thanatos might have lamented his absence, might have missed the distinct lack of laughter and life in the halls. As it stands, he specifically chose this moment to return home, so he may gather his bearings and rest without having to deal with Zagreus and his lacklustre apologies that don’t so much as touch on the correct subject. He doesn’t have the energy, not while there’s a war happening on the surface. Reaping the souls from the magnitude of smaller skirmishes before the Keres can snatch them, in addition to his regular duties, requires all of his time and focus.</p><p>The lull in the fighting is a welcome respite, one he would prefer to spend in peace, or as close as he can get. He has time yet, if his estimates are correct; Zagreus only recently entered Asphodel, and there is a long road up to the surface ahead still. Thanatos ought to be able to speak with Mother Nyx, to check up on Hypnos, could perhaps even coax a dreamless nap from his brother, if he –</p><p>“Blood and darkness, that hurt!”</p><p>Thanatos’ head snaps up to see Zagreus clamber out of the Pool of Styx, the scent of smoke and burnt flesh preceding him. <em>Typical</em>. Zagreus hasn’t failed to reach the surface in who knows how many attempts now, only Lord Hades himself capable of sending his son back home the painful way, but of course, when Thanatos wants a moment of respite, the idiot goes and falls into a pit of magma. The Fates must be having a good laugh at his expense.</p><p>He supposed he ought to be grateful Zagreus doesn’t even think to approach the balcony whence Thanatos likes to watch the River Styx flow; he barely remembers to stop to pet Cerberus before he’s off again, tracking bloody footprints on the marble floors that only serve to add to Dusa’s workload.</p><p>A fluke, Thanatos supposes. A slip of focus, a poor choice of armament, an unlucky sequence of shifting chambers. Doubtlessly Zagreus will fight his way to the surface again on his next attempt.</p><p>Except he doesn’t.</p><p>Thanatos cannot seem to predict when Zagreus will or will not be dwelling the halls of the House; time after time, he succumbs before ever reaching Lord Hades on the surface. It’s beginning to frustrate Zagreus, Thanatos can tell, and he supposes it’s a small mercy that the plentiful failures keep Zagreus from seeking him out to try and pawn a bottle of nectar off on him in lieu of an apology.</p><p>It carries on for days, then weeks, then months. The war continues to rage on the surface, and Thanatos works hard to keep up with the influx of souls, and Zagreus perishes in the depths of Asphodel or the plains of Elysium or, on rare occasions, even the pits of Tartarus.</p><p>It takes all those months for Zagreus to gather his courage and approach him. “Hey, Than?”</p><p>“What?” Thanatos asks flatly. He does not turn away from the sight of the River Styx, ever flowing down.</p><p>He hears Zagreus sigh behind him. “Please don’t tell me you’re still upset about the whole Sisyphus thing.”</p><p>Thanatos’ nails dig hard into his palm. “What do you <em>want</em>, Zagreus?”</p><p>There’s a beat of silence, and Thanatos dreads the umpteenth inevitable attempt at smoothing things over – but Zagreus, it seems, also lacks the energy for another tiff today. “I was just wondering if you’d seen Lord Ares recently. You work together from time to time, don’t you?”</p><p>“We do, yes,” Thanatos answers the truly pointless question – <em>of course</em> War and Death work together. “But I’ve not seen him in some time now. His latest war is reaching its crescendo and he is needed on the larger battlefields, whose departed souls I must leave to my sisters. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing. I’ve just not had the fortune of coming across one of his blessings in recent memory, even though I’ve been hanging on to the vial he gave me,” Zagreus says. “But if there’s a big war happening, I suppose that explains it.”</p><p>“Not even while carrying his keepsake?” Thanatos turns to face Zagreus only now, brow furrowed in thought – and concern, though he won’t admit that. “That’s… odd. I will attempt to locate him, next time my work brings me near his battlegrounds.”</p><p>“Oh no, you don’t have to go out of your way, I’m sure he’s just busy with his war and all,” Zagreus waves away the offering. “I was merely curious. Lord Ares’ boons are quite potent – more suited for fighting than anyone else’s. I’ll admit I’ve been struggling quite a bit without his aid.”</p><p>It’s not much of an admission when the whole entire House knows just how much he’s been struggling these past few months, ever since –</p><p><em>Ah</em>.</p><p>It’s curious, how hard he has to fight the urge to smile. So, it’s not quite storming the Underworld to wreak vengeance upon King Sisyphus – but Ares clearly does not make idle threats.</p><p>“Nevertheless, if I happen upon him, I shall let him know his presence is sorely missed,” Thanatos says. “He would surely appreciate the sentiment.”</p><p>As much as Thanatos will enjoy seeing the amusement dance in those mesmerising red eyes of his, he thinks.</p><hr/><p>The war is abating.</p><p>It’s always a shame, to see the battles gradually lessen, but then Ares is well aware that no war can last forever. The mortals lose their lives too quickly and in too great a number, and both armies will need time to recover, to bolster the ranks once again. Such is war, a constant rise and fall of strife.</p><p>There is plenty still to be done, of course – war begins nor ends with battle, and as such, neither does Ares’ influence. The councils, the strategy, the spying, the scouting; all of it is his domain, and he finds joy in every part. It truly is fascinating, to see the lengths the mortals can and will go to when they are at war.</p><p>Yet still, it is the battles that most often compel the mortals to pray for his aid, offerings made in his name beforehand, tributes raised in his honour afterwards. Thus it is the battles to which he is most often drawn, because Ares, like any deity, does indeed thrive on worship.</p><p>He oversees one such battle now, remnants of two great armies clashing for perhaps the final time. Both sides have given Ares his dues, and as such he has not granted his favour to either. He is here merely to observe, to learn, and, perhaps, to grant a blessing to those mortals who show great prowess in combat. There is a soldier he has been keeping an eye on, one he has spurred through quite some clashes now – young and clever, quiet but always watching, assessing, following orders but bending the rules just enough to give his people an edge. He will make an excellent General someday, if he lives.</p><p>And if the thoughtful furrow of the soldier’s brow reminds Ares just a bit too much of a Chthonic God he has grown fond of, he will have to be forgiven. Not even the Olympians are infallible, much as his sire would like the mortals to believe otherwise.</p><p>As such, he will also have to be forgiven for forsaking the battle entirely, when the very reason he has extended his favour to the soldier with the pensive eyes appears beside him on the hill overlooking the battlefield.</p><p>“Why, my dear Death,” Ares hums, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”</p><p><em>Pleasure</em>, he says, not <em>honour</em> – though it is, to be certain, an honour whenever Thanatos seeks him out. It is not something that happens often, to Ares’ regret.</p><p>Thanatos does not answer immediately, standing tall and straight-backed beside him, surveying the battle below with an expression of thinly veiled distaste. Ares has long since learned not to take offense – it is not the war itself that displeases Death, but the idea that he must leave the souls of the fallen to the Keres. There is a possessiveness to him that Ares appreciates; every God wants their spoils, even those who do not wage war.</p><p>“You’ve been busy, I heard,” Thanatos says eventually, regarding Ares in his peripheral. “Does this war take up so much of your time that you cannot spare a moment to send your regards down to the Underworld every once in a while?”</p><p>Ah, so his absence has been noticed, then. Most excellent. “Priorities must be set,” he shrugs, though he cannot keep the corners of his mouth from curling into a perfectly self-satisfied smirk. “I’m certain my kin is managing just fine with the aid of my fellow Olympians.”</p><p>“You know perfectly well he isn’t.”</p><p>“A pity,” Ares says, unrepentant. “He is learning that his actions have consequences, then?”</p><p>Thanatos huffs in that way that is not-quite laughter. “Hardly,” he lilts. “As I said, he has the rather annoying tendency to think entirely too highly of others. He will likely believe you are preoccupied with your war until word of peace reaches the Underworld.”</p><p>Ares tuts. “Does he truly not realise I would be displeased about his decision to let the Deceiver King go free?”</p><p>“He doesn’t even know you had a hand in his capture,” Thanatos admits, jaw set in displeasure. “Nor the lengths Sisyphus went to in his attempt to gain immortality. Zagreus merely assumed my pride was all that he wounded.”</p><p>The smile slides from Ares’ face as though by his Uncle Poseidon’s magic – or by his Uncle Poseidon’s mere presence, really. “He never inquired?”</p><p>His anger has sat cold in his veins since he last spoke with Thanatos, and it is as though the ice is only creeping further and further up the longer it stays, threatening to engulf him in its entirety. His head is clear, his posture composed, and he is so, so <em>furious</em>. To think his cousin <em>dared</em> to assume that Thanatos – calm, clever, impartial Thanatos – would hold a grudge over something as inconsequential as a bruised ego is <em>incomprehensible</em>.</p><p>Thanatos shakes his head. “I did not volunteer the information either.”</p><p>“As is your good right,” Ares insists. “What he did to you…”</p><p>He doesn’t complete the thought. To this day, he can still vividly recall the sight of Thanatos, wrapped in chains and stowed away in a too-small chest, wrists bruised, temple bleeding, and expression so very fearful, pained, <em>broken</em>. Ares is not one to shy away from gruesome scenes; he has, objectively, seen much worse, instigated much worse – been through worse, even, considering the long year he spent in the Aloadae’s captivity. But nothing will ever be more haunting than the memory of finding one he has come to care for in that position.</p><p>“Let us not speak of that,” Thanatos says briskly. “We both know perfectly well what transpired.”</p><p>Ares hums in acquiesce. “Then what would you wish of me, my Emperor?”</p><p>“Emper-?” Thanatos begins, stops, snorts an uncharacteristically loud laugh. “Mortals have the most ludicrous names for butterflies these days.”</p><p>“Do you take offence?”</p><p>There is something undeniably amused in Thanatos’ eyes. “No,” he is quick to assure. “And as for Zagreus… I don’t care to see him fail quite so often. He is my friend, even if he is consistently intent on testing the limits of my patience.”</p><p>“You are more merciful than I,” Ares murmurs, making no effort to hide the blatant admiration in his voice. Mercy has never been his nature, for mercy is a rare thing to find in war, but Thanatos… Thanatos is mercy itself. There is nothing more merciful than a swift death. “I shall be a bit more lenient, then, at your behest.”</p><p>“Once again I owe you my gratitude, Lord Ares,” Thanatos says, his words accompanied by an inclination of his head that may as well have been a sweeping bow, coming from him.</p><p>“You owe me naught at all, my dear Death,” Ares speaks only the truth. “Though much as it pains me, you ought to leave me now. It shan’t be long before your sisters arrive.”</p><p>Indeed, the battle has almost ceased, and doubtlessly the Keres are already lying in wait, prepared to claim their spoils as soon as the last combatant has been felled. Ares knows it is not a scene Thanatos cares to witness.</p><p>Thanatos’ nose scrunches in displeasure. “I shall take my leave, then. Good fortune to you, Lord Ares.”</p><p>“And to you, my Emperor.”</p><p>He gets but a glimpse of the fondly exasperated expression that flickers across Thanatos’ face before he’s gone, and Ares is once again left alone with the remnants of the mortals’ armies clashing on the field below.</p><p>His favoured soldier, he finds to his mild chagrin, has perished while he was preoccupied with the very reason he favoured said soldier in the first place, and Ares curses softly. Death most certainly has a way of swaying War.</p><p>Ares descends from his place atop the hill, and calls for Hermes. He will see to it that this soul has a most revered place in Elysium, if nothing else.</p><hr/><p>The next time Zagreus ventures out of the House of Hades, it is the House’s very Master who returns through the Pool of Styx.</p><p>Zagreus himself follows not long after, as always; those bound to the Underworld cannot stay on the surface indefinitely, as Thanatos knows all too well. But the Zagreus that emerges from the Pool is reborn in more than just a literal sense – confidence in his fire-fuelled steps, determination gleaming in his eyes, pride in his smile – and Thanatos is more relieved than he will ever say. Zagreus without his usual bravado is a disconcerting sight.</p><p>Of course, his renewed spirit also means he wastes little time renewing his pursuits to try and mend their fractured bond.</p><p>“Thanatos, can we talk?”</p><p>Putting it off any longer won’t have pleasant consequences in the long run, he’s well aware. “I suppose we should, yes.”</p><p>They retreat to Zagreus’ bedchamber to gain some sense of privacy, and Thanatos ends up perched on the edge of the armrest of Zagreus’ recliner, while Zagreus himself paces anxiously across the length of his carpet, which the Contractor thankfully had the foresight to fireproof. Thanatos has known him long enough to refrain from prompting, to keep his peace and let Zagreus wind himself down. He prefers to think important things through, in contrast to his usual brash nature, and Thanatos appreciates that he finds this important enough to consider it so carefully, if nothing else.</p><p>“I spoke with Lord Ares,” Zagreus says eventually, coming to an abrupt halt before Thanatos. “Or, well, he spoke to me, I mean. No two-way communication and all that, you know how it works.”</p><p>“I’m aware,” Thanatos says coolly. “But I’m sure you didn’t bring me here to discuss the shortcomings of Underworld-to-Olympus correspondence.”</p><p>Zagreus laughs, the sounds holding little mirth. “Yeah, no, I didn’t. I wanted to apologise, Than. Again. For altering Sisyphus’ pact without talking to you first.”</p><p>“So why did you?” Thanatos asks, trying to keep any judgement from his tone – and failing, apparently, from the way Zagreus’ face falls. “I don’t mean to admonish, I do appreciate the apology, but you could have very easily avoided this mess in the first place.”</p><p>“Don’t I know it,” Zagreus snorts. “I don’t know, Than, I just thought… he’s always been kind to me, and I didn’t think he’d really hurt anything other than Father’s pride, and yours. But Lord Ares told me Sisyphus harmed someone he loves very dearly, which – well, I didn’t realise Lord Ares loved anyone, for starters. He doesn’t seem the type, you know? So if Sisyphus was capable of that, I’m wondering… what did he do to escape from you? He hurt more than just your pride, didn’t he?”</p><p>A beat of silence, then two. “… Lord Ares said that, did he?”</p><p>“<em>‘In the future, you should refrain from pardoning criminals who have done harm to those I dearly love, my kin’</em>,” Zagreus delivers promptly, in a very poor approximation of Ares’ deep timbre. “It’s no wonder he was cross with me, really.”</p><p>Thanatos swallows thickly. “You’re right,” he rasps, voice little more than a hoarse whisper. “Sisyphus did more than hurt my pride. I’d prefer not to go into details, but… well, one way to escape death is to render Death incapable of reaping so much as a single soul.”</p><p>“Oh, Than,” Zagreus breathes, eyes brimming with sympathy. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If I’d known –”</p><p>“You would have done the same thing,” Thanatos states it as the fact it is. “You’d have jumped through a few more hoops, yes, but once you get an idea in that thick skull of yours…”</p><p>Zagreus smiles sheepishly. “You may be right about that,” he admits. “I’d say I’m stubborn as a bull, but I wouldn’t want to offend Asterius.”</p><p>“You’re selfless,” Thanatos corrects. “It becomes you.”</p><p>Zagreus’ cheeks colour at the rare praise, and there was a time when Thanatos would have relished the sight. A time before Zagreus tried to leave the Underworld – and by extension, Thanatos – behind. Before Zagreus revoked the Knave-King’s sentence. Before Zagreus showed the true extent of his selflessness, and Thanatos realised that he, by contrast, is <em>selfish</em>.</p><p>Because what he wants, with an intensity that startles him, is for such kindness, such fire, such love, to be for <em>him</em>. He wants someone who is unequivocally on his side, someone who will put his needs before those of others, someone… well, someone who would go to war for him, truth be told. He <em>wants</em>, as Death does, and Death only knows how to take.</p><p>But then Death does have one thing to give – himself. Not a gift many would gladly accept, but there is a recipient who would be delighted, he’s certain.</p><p>After all, War is nothing without Death.</p><p>And Death, he finds, would be dreadfully discontent without War.</p><p>“So,” Zagreus says, breaking his reverie. “Are we… okay? Not that I expect a single apology to fix everything in one go, but –”</p><p>“Yes, we’re okay,” Thanatos cuts him off. “Thank you, for coming to me. And I too am sorry, for holding onto my grudge for so long. It was a rather pointless exercise altogether.”</p><p>“You had every right to be upset,” Zagreus is swift to assure. “But I’m glad, that you’re not anymore. You’re my friend, Than. I don’t want to lose you.”</p><p>“Rest assured, you won’t. Not over something as trivial as this.”</p><p>Because it will be a cold day in Asphodel before Thanatos allows King Sisyphus to cost him more than he already has.</p><p>And that includes time with those he loves.</p><hr/><p>When next Death approaches, Ares is expecting him.</p><p>The leaders of the warring nations have gathered to discuss possibilities for peace, and Ares is here to ensure they see it through. An odd thing for War to facilitate, and yet so very necessary. There is naught left in either nation, and prolonged hostilities will only serve to harm any prospects for future wars. Contrary to popular belief, Ares rarely instigates wars personally – the mortals are quite capable of that without his intervention. He merely helps the spark ignite, fans the flames, and douses them when the fire begins to flicker. Such is his domain.</p><p>This is one of the few facets of war that do not involve death, and so Death is courteous enough to wait until hands are clasped and peace is declared.</p><p>“Is that the end of your war then, Lord Ares?”</p><p>“It would appear so,” Ares hums, a hint of rue in his voice. While this is the inevitable cycle of war and peace, he always laments the loss of his influence. “The mortals put on a fine show. They did me great honour.”</p><p>“As you deserve.”</p><p>The compliment is much more freely given than Thanatos is prone to, and it isn’t hard to discern what has Death in good spirits. “You’ve ceased your own war as well, haven’t you?” Ares muses. “I trust my kin has made his amends?”</p><p>“He has,” Thanatos confirms. It’s easy to tell; there is no longer any red in his aura. “And once more I must extend my gratitude to you, Lord Ares. Your words are what spurred him to action, in the end.”</p><p>“Did they now?”</p><p>Thanatos raises a single eyebrow. “You must realise that you can be very persuasive when you wish to be.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m well aware,” Ares all but croons. “But then I’ve had quite a few choice words for my kin recently.”</p><p>Playing coy is decidedly not his forte, if the expression on Thanatos’ face is any indication. “Zagreus was rather shocked to learn that the Knave-King harmed someone you dearly love,” he says, voice kept carefully even. “As was I, truth be told. Whoever holds such a high honour?”</p><p>He feels as though there is a war drum thrumming in his chest – and as always, it spurs him to action, into the very heat of battle. “You,” he says, the single syllable spoken firmly, without hesitation. There is as little room for doubt in love as there is in war. “He harmed <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Thanatos is silent.</p><p>He is silent for a long time, as the drum continues to steadily beat in Ares’ chest, louder, louder, <em>louder</em> –</p><p>“You might have told me,” Thanatos says eventually, so very softly – or perhaps Ares just has trouble hearing him over the sound of his own personal war drum.</p><p>“It was not my place,” Ares murmurs. “You existed long before I did, and you will remain longer still after I perish. The choice is not mine to make, my Emperor.”</p><p>“So you would grant the choice to me, instead?”</p><p>“I would grant everything to you, if you allowed me.”</p><p>“And if I do not?”</p><p>The drum stops.</p><p>“Then I will keep what is yours,” he says, “and pray you decide to take what you are due, in time.”</p><p>Thanatos closes his eyes, breathes deeply, sets his shoulders. “I am Death,” he declares, “and Death only ever <em>takes</em>. If I begin, I am not likely to stop. Are you truly prepared for that?”</p><p>Ares isn’t entirely sure what compels him – if it is the intensity of Thanatos’ gaze, or the weight of his words, or the simple fact that his own legs seem incapable of supporting him any longer – but he falls to his knees before Death, head bowed in deference. In <em>reverence</em>. “Yes.”</p><p>A sharp intake of breath, the rustle of grass, and then there are fingers underneath his chin, imploring him to lift his head with a featherlight touch. And the sight he is greeted with – Thanatos, kneeling with him, eyes serene and content in a way Ares has never seen before – will be seared into his memory for all of his existence.</p><p>And so will the sensation of Thanatos’ lips pressed against his own, ever so softly. There is no insistence, no haste, no claim, nothing but gentleness, restraint, care. It is not what Ares is used to – and of course it isn’t, this is <em>Death</em>, this is <em>everything</em> – and he has to exert considerable effort to restrain himself. He is War, and War is used to taking his spoils. But Thanatos is nothing so banal as <em>spoils</em>, and he is not Ares’ to take. It is Death who takes, as much or as little as he pleases.</p><p>Thanatos smiles against his lips, impish in a way that betrays his relation to his twin brother, and he reaches for one of Ares’ hands – which, Ares only vaguely realises, is laid on his knee, fingers digging hard into his own flesh to keep his composure. To keep from giving in to the instinct to <em>plunder</em>, to demand that which is not his to take.</p><p>“You make no hollow vows, do you?” Thanatos whispers, his breath ghosting over Ares’ cheek. “You would truly grant me anything. <em>Everything</em>.”</p><p>“Everything,” Ares rasps, and by Olympus but he sounds more wrecked from a single kiss from Death than he ever has before. “Whatever you please, my Emperor. My beloved.”</p><p>Thanatos ducks his head, a beautiful golden blush colouring his cheeks. “I want,” he says, voice still so certain, so steady. “I want you to show me. The depths of your devotion.”</p><p>It is a request phrased like an order – even now, there is mercy in him – and Ares lifts their joined hands, places a kiss as careful and gentle as their first upon Thanatos’ knuckles.</p><p>“Allow me to take you from here,” he implores – they kneel, two Gods of immeasurable power, on a meadow just outside a mortal city’s walls, and this is not where Death ought to be courted. “Allow me to take you <em>home</em>.”</p><p>Thanatos’ eyes are fixated on their hands, still held over Ares’ heart. “Please do.”</p><p>It is not something he needs to be told twice.</p><p>As Ares gathers Thanatos into his arms, he can feel an almost imperceptible tug at his consciousness, a small glint breaking through the perpetual darkness that is the Underworld, and he smiles ruefully. His kin is carrying his keepsake, asking for his aid – aid which Ares cannot give, at present.</p><p>This time, it is he who shall have to make amends.</p><p>But –</p><p><em>Later</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay so maybe Purple Emperor butterflies weren't yet named as such in Ancient Greece. But fuck it, the petname was too fitting to pass up.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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